


Between Fear and Delight

by littleb0d



Series: chiropterophilous [1]
Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Body Horror, Drug Use, Other, Possession, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Who Knows?, general weirdness, maybe spiders, wonky moral compasses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-01-19 16:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12413625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleb0d/pseuds/littleb0d
Summary: Books! Swamps! Possible eldritch horrors!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fear and Delight is a song by The Correspondents, who I would thoroughly recommend due to their weirdness.
> 
> This is my first fic that I've posted, so please be gentle...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Viola needs a job...

Like all good stories, it started with an unusual advert in a newspaper. Now, the reader of said advert was a lady of questionable virtue called Viola. She was fairly successful in her line of work and got by comfortably but there was a problem: her highly religious parents were due to visit her in a fortnight. They would _definitely_ not approve of her occupation, so she needed some extra money to make herself at least seem reputable. The advert intrigued her as it was straight to the point with only the title ‘Alluring Accomplice needed’ and an address underneath. It was surrounded by a border of intricately detailed roses. There was no mention of the nature of the work or, more importantly, the pay. Viola flicked through the rest but none were as inexplicably compelling as the first. She damned her curiosity and decided to take the chance - after all, what could possibly surprise a citizen of Fallen London?

 

**~~~~~~~**

 

After much haggling with various small urchins for directions and cab drivers, Viola arrived at the address. The house glowered at her from the depths of Bugsby’s Marshes, shifting and creaking like many of the inhabitants there. Thankfully it did not start growling like the shadow she saw earlier, however, she did not disregard the possibility entirely. As she approached the door with trepidation, Viola noticed how deformed the ramshackle building was - it looked more organic than anything else. Maybe it posted the mysterious advert… no, dear reader, stop that train of thought in its tracks before it gets too silly.  

 

She steeled herself and bonked the brass knocker against the door. It refused to echo theatrically which was somewhat underwhelming. The seconds crawled along, then the minutes...

“Come in!” an indistinct voice eventually called out from within.

Viola prepared herself for the worst, opened the creaky door, and stepped over the threshold. She almost tripped over the lizard on the Persian rug, it blinked reproachfully up at her. Viola tried her best not to boggle at the outrageous luxury around her, but failed, miserably. It was as if the resident had decided to employ an interior decorator of cathedrals. The effect was incongruous with the swamp at best, but nonetheless rather impressive.

“Ah, I've seen you've met Merlin!” said a familiar voice by her shoulder. Viola spun around to face her possible employer, a captivating individual who charmingly introduced themself as Bod.

“Merlin?” Viola hoped they were not referring to the vase she had been inspecting.

“He's the lizard, as well as a dear friend of mine.”

“Oh yes, I understand.” Viola lied.

“So,” Bod flopped down on a chair with feline grace, “I assume you're here about my advert, yes?”

“Well, about that… I'm not completely sure what you would want me to do. There wasn't much description.”

Bod quirked their eyebrows slightly, as if to say ’Do you really want to know?’, then steepled their fingers and said, “Mr Pages has commissioned me to find a book, and-”

“Wait, wait - did you say _Mr Pages_ , as in one of the extremely powerful and ominous Masters of the Bazaar?”

Bod nodded slowly, looking unsure of what to make of this stream of incredulity and continued, “I have a very _very_ tenuous lead to a library near the University, but I’m afraid that’s all. So, are you interested?” They leaned forward with a mischievous gleam in their eye.

“I- I… yes.” This was madness, absolute madness but Viola could not resist the call of the void. It felt _right_.

“Excellent!” Bod clapped their hands together in glee, “It will be a pleasure doing business with you.”

 

The next few minutes were a blur of forms to sign, organising of lodgings and many other matters to be taken care of - like what on earth one was to do when one encountered one of Merlin’s rather large cousins (thankfully Viola demonstrated she was more than capable of handling such situations by pinning Bod to the wall with her foot, encased in a frightening boot).

Then it was done.

 

This was the beginning of something truly _delicious_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our intrepid duo visit a library...

After a couple of days of preparation, our intrepid duo set off into the slippery city streets. Both of them had had quite the wardrobe change since their first encounter - Viola wore a pair of sensible trousers and a brown greatcoat, whilst Bod wore a black velvet suit. They would have made a fetching, mysterious pair if Bod had not been wearing an iron top hat which was, quite honestly, not very stealthy.

Viola pointed this out, to which Bod replied, “It’s better to look stupid than to be dead. Trust me, I don’t want to go through that again.”

“How did it happen?”

“I went to the House of Mirrors; looked into the Heart’s Mirror and fell in like an utter  _ fool _ . It gets a bit blurry after that…  I think there was some business with a boatman and maybe chess?” Bod was lost in thought as they rounded another corner, as if they were filing that memory away in the depths of their mind. “Anyway, here we are!” They presented a hole in the wall covered by a rusty grate that looked suspiciously like a sewer. Viola did not trust it one bit.

“It’s awfully dark down there, did you bring a lamp?”

Bod grinned in return and proceeded to produce Merlin from their hat. Then they rummaged through their pockets to find a lump of lamplighter’s beeswax, which they fed to Merlin. The lizard glowed smugly, which casted a dim, greenish light all around. 

“Well, that’s certainly one way to do it…” said Viola. 

Although Bod was fairly slight, they showed no difficulty in wrenching the grate aside so they could slip through with ease. Now, Viola was not usually scared of the dark or small spaces but she could not suppress a shiver of trepidation as she crossed over to join Bod in the greenish gloom. 

 

“Oh,” they said after a little while, “I suppose I should mention that there are sorrow spiders down here.” Sensing Viola’s agitation, they quickly added “I’ve dealt with them before, so don’t worry.” 

“And how successful was that?”

“...I didn't die.”  _ Great _ .

As they made their way deeper into the tunnel, the walls became covered in spiderwebs and the ground became rougher, less travelled. Viola soon stepped in something that went  _ squish _ , and, against her better judgement, she inspected her boot. 

 

It was a human eyeball.

 

From then on, she noticed them  _ everywhere _ . Staring at her from behind veils of silk, empty of anything apart from maybe the occasional cluster of spiders’ eggs. 

 

Bod appeared different down here: the light made their eye sockets look deeper and the scar across the bridge of their nose starker. They melted into the darkness like tar, the shadows welcomed them. I would not want to be on the receiving end of  _ that _ . The tunnel turned sharply up ahead and Bod signalled to Viola to stay put whilst they went first. 

 

Viola waited in the dark as moments trundled by...

 

Suddenly, a torrent of curses sliced through the silence as Bod hurtled around the corner and skidded to a halt in front of her. Blood dripped from their nose and they ever-so-slightly smoked. “I may have slightly misjudged the number of sorrow spiders we’re up against,” they wheezed, “Also, fun fact: sorrow spiders can spit acid.  _ Hurrah _ .” As if on cue, about a dozen of the dratted things came scuttling around the bend, chittering furiously. 

 

And Bod ran towards them. (This is a fine example of treading the thin line between bravery and stupidity.)  _ This is insanity, _ thought Viola as she followed in hot pursuit.

Luckily for her, a lady was always well armed in these trying times (in her case it was a pair of sturdy revolvers). 

 

The duo barrelled through the mass of gnashing mandibles and found themselves in a gaping cavern. There were more spiders than floor, and none of them were impressed with the daring entrance. They expressed their displeasure by swarming towards Bod and Viola with gusto. 

 

But the undeniable centre of attention was the spider-council. It looked as if a lazy deity had used up all the spare spider parts to make this abomination. It regarded the newcomers with a hundred eyes as they tore through its brethren. Viola had currently run out of ammunition and was now using Bod’s hat to smush her adversaries to a pulp. Sometimes they splattered against a wall in an oddly satisfying manner. 

 

Meanwhile, Bod was making excellent use of their tasselled sword-cane to deftly cut their way through the depleting numbers of spiders. They soon came face to faces with the spider-council. “Oh little human,” it rasped in a chorus, “How arrogant you are to think you can destroy me.” 

“Maybe so, but I've got a job to do. Nothing personal,” they said before leaping onto the spider-council. It hissed in response and a thousand legs flailed upwards to grasp its attacker but they were too nimble, too quick. Bod got a hold of a leg and plunged something downwards into an abdomen. The beast floundered for a moment, then lay motionless.

 

The remaining sorrow spiders disappeared into the darker gloom. Bod clambered down from the carcass to join Viola. She tried to suppress a giggle as they wandered over. Bod looked down and faced the unfortunate truth: their outfit was covered in sticky grey ichor -  _ ruined _ . “Oh, I liked this jacket!” They did a theatrical pout which set Viola off even more. 

“Look, this is serious business. Pull yourself together.” Bod tried to say but ended up joining Viola in her laughing fit. 

 

After a few moments, the pair managed to compose themselves and set to the serious business of breaking into the library. They followed a winding passage that led to a trapdoor. It was bolted but it proved to be no problem for Bod’s lockpicks. They beamed like the Cheshire Cat when it swung open with a  _ creak _ . 

 

Bod and Viola soon emerged into what looked like a prison cell for books. They were chained to the shelves and some were even in cages. Occasionally they whispered secrets in forgotten languages. The whole place hummed with ideas straining for freedom. This was definitely the right place to find forbidden books.

 

Bod had just started rummaging about for the right one, when they were interrupted by a scritching from under the trapdoor. A leg inched through the gap and before you could say ‘arachnophobia’, the spiders returned with a vengeance. Bod managed to snatch a thin volume off a table before bounding over a desk with Viola in tow. They kicked down the rickety door and got into the library proper.

 

My dear reader, on the other side of the door was a librarian called Edward. Now, Edward very much valued his peace and quiet so you could imagine his dismay, nay his horror, at the appearance of these interlopers (even more so at the smaller, many-legged ones). It is also important to note that he was definitely not built for these kinds of antics, instead he much preferred a cup of soothing tea and a book. However, this pastime had been woefully cut short by these utter hooligans who were currently fending off half the sorrow spider population in Fallen London. And worst of all, they had one of his books. Therefore, he decided to unfold himself from his chair to retrieve said book.

“Enough!” he bellowed at the ongoing scuffle.

Librarians seem to have a hidden power, much like teachers, to make even the rowdiest of groups silent (yes, including spiders). Edward then marched over to where Bod stood frozen in astonishment. “Come on, give it here.” he demanded. Bod handed over a large volume that was almost overflowing with cryptic notes. “And the other,” he sighed. 

Bod refused and began to inch back slowly until they were stopped by an inconvenient table. “So sorry about this-” they said before punching Edward on the jaw. He reeled back in pain and alarm, clutching his split lip and cursing under his breath. In his confusion he dropped the book onto the floor… 

 

A single drop of blood escaped through Edward’s fingers and fell onto the book’s open, inviting pages. It lay there in a moment of stillness - a beautiful bead of scarlet - then it faded to an inky black and sank into the parchment. 

 

The pages began to buzz. The words began to spiral. 

Faster faster faster until it was a blur of languages that were not meant for human eyes. The sound was excruciating, like a swarm of furious hornets on a sugar rush. Glass shattered and candles blew themselves out as the noise grew. 

 

Bod and Viola had retreated behind an overturned desk. Viola was pretty certain that her colleague had gone into a state of shock next to her. She was not doing much better herself, one of her ears was bleeding and she was absolutely covered in debris. Edward was faring the worst out of the three of them. He just stood and stared at the howling book paralysed with an odd combination of fear and fascination.

 

The spiral of words suddenly overflowed the confines of the pages and decided to go  _ up _ . They soon crested above the tall librarian and engulfed him completely. They got up his nose and mouth and down his throat. He could not breathe or scream or cry out for help. They crawled into his ears and smothered his eyes. They bled into his skin and caused havoc in his nerves. They strangled his mind into new, painful shapes. 

 

Finally it stopped and he collapsed to his knees. 

 

Viola gathered herself together then quickly made her way over to the prone form of Edward. 

  
When he looked up, his eyes were inky black and inhuman languages writhed across his skin. His newly black lips stretched into a smile. She stopped in her tracks when he gave a low hearty chuckle that was almost a growl and said in a voice that was not his own, “ _ Fools _ .”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we are constantly in doubt of Bod's decision-making skills...

The thing that was not Edward stood up and stretched. His body clicked in ways it should not have. It moved like a puppet being controlled by a novice as it strode towards Viola, who was trying (and failing) not to quake with fear. “Do you know how _long_ I’ve been trapped that book? Far too many years for my liking… But now I'm free to do what I want - to raze this city to the _ground_.”

“Really?” said a voice Viola was not expecting, “That’s so _boring_. Where’s the creativity? The originality? Hmm, Mr Cliché?”

‘Mr Cliché’ spun around in fury to face the interrupter: a slender figure with sparkling green eyes and unruly burgundy hair. “And just who are you?” demanded ‘Mr Cliché’.

“My name is Bod. To be perfectly honest, I am more afraid of the things in my head than I am of _you_.” They grinned up at the thing that was not Edward, “Besides, you haven’t even introduced yourself. Very poor manners, you know.”

The inhabitant decided to humour Bod, “Fine then, little mortal. You may call me Ink.”

“Short, catchy - I like it.”

Ink did not think he could be surprised by anything after thousands of years of existence, but this human was an exception. Their sheer unabashed confidence was an absolute aberration which simply had to be dealt with. Severely.

 

He grabbed Bod’s throat and hoisted them off the ground with superb ease. From that close up, Bod could see streaks of blue-black in Edward’s blonde hair and the whirls of text across his face. There were long scratches on his cheek where he had tried to claw the sigils from his skin. They stood out vividly against his too-pale skin.

 

Then, quite abruptly, Bod went limp like a wet towel. Ink was so used to people resisting him that he lost his balance for a moment. A moment was all it took for Bod to lash out with a foot to Ink’s nether regions. He buckled and Bod plonked to the floor, clutching their side in pain. “Heh,” they wheezed,”So even beings like you are vulnerable in that area. Good to know.”

 

Ink could not dignify this with a response as he was in a foetal position and trying not to cry. He just about managed to say, “You will regret this,” before dissipating into a crackling haze of text that faded to nothing.

 

Viola immediately went over to where Bod lay amidst the wreckage. They looked sickly pale and glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. A dark stain spread up their side. “You,” said Viola, “are an absolute _idiot._ What were you thinking? You can’t just expect me to save your sorry backside every time and follow you into who-knows-what.”

“But here you are.”

Viola shot them a look, “That’s not the point,” she began to inspect the wound, “We need to work together. Like friends.”

“ _Friends_.” The word hung in the air, an unfamiliar shape to Bod. “Okay… I think I can work with that,” they said after they had mulled it over.

“Good to- oh. Oh no, this is bad.” Viola had just had a proper look at Bod’s side. The spider-bite was an interesting shade of green and _oozed_. Bod made a face as they glimpsed it as Viola wrapped her scarf around their middle. It was far from perfect, but it would have to do.

 

**~~~~~~~**

 

The pair managed to get out of the library and onto the streets, eventually. Bod constantly said that they were ‘fine’ despite being clearly the opposite (believe me, no-one down here is ever ‘fine’). They grimaced and groaned but kept going nonetheless.

 

It was strangely quiet as they walked down the back roads, almost blissful. The city seemed to be almost suspended in animation, with every shadow and reflection of candlelight picked out in brilliant detail.

 

This, of course, was entirely ruined when a small voice hollered down an alley, “Hey, it's Bod!” A cacophony of other voices bounced around the rooftop accompanied by various giggles and hoots of delight as about half a dozen grubby urchins descended onto the cobbles. Bod’s whole face lit up and attempted to hug all of them at once but was stopped by Viola, who was keenly aware of their injuries. “Settle down everyone!” Bod called into the throng, “I have someone to introduce to you - this is my wonderful… _friend_ , Viola. Viola, these are my little gremlins and I love them dearly.” Viola almost expected them to go _ta-da_ at any minute; they were such a showman. Or maybe it was delirium from the venom.

 

The urchins surged forward to inspect her. They pulled on her sleeves, her hair, and generally pestered her for a good few minutes. After that, they huddled together in whispered conversation and the leader, a petite girl with a mass of frizzy ginger hair, gave a little nod to Bod in approval of the stranger. “Marvellous! Now,” said Bod, “Who here wants to hear a story?” This was answered in a chorus of ardent yeses, accompanied with lots of bouncing.

 

After they had all found seats on upturned crates and such, Bod began their tale of how they met Viola and the events that followed. They were a truly brilliant storyteller; they delivered it with such flair and passion that Viola could not help but be swept up in it. They finished with “...and that is how I got _this-_ ” Bod showed their audience the drippy spider-bite and was rewarded with fascinated disgust.

 

“Right then, time’s up folks,” announced Viola and, to everyone's dismay, hauled Bod up and away from their little admirers. “I promise I'll be back soon. Stay out of trouble my dears, and if you can't do that remember not to get caught!” Bod called out as they rounded the corner.

“You really care for those kids, don't you?” commented Viola.

“Yes, indeed I do. When I first came down here, they showed me the ways of the Neath and have grown on me ever since. I've even started teaching some of the older ones how to read and write.” They smiled fondly at the memories.

 

In the next moment, Bod’s left leg buckled alarmingly and they would have careened into a lampost had Viola not caught them in the nick of time. “Come on you, let’s get you home.”  And without any further ado, she swept Bod up and proceeded to carry them bridal-style down the street. “H-hey, put me down this instant!”

“Absolutely not.”

“As your employer, I demand-”

“No chance.”

 

This bickering continued all the way back…


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we experience the aftermath...

After a rather bumpy ride in a hansom cab, Viola eventually cajoled a disgruntled Bod into bed. They managed to complain for a grand total of seventeen seconds before passing out. Viola found herself smiling into the blissful quiet at her achievement as she bandaged them up properly.

 

This young lady never had any particularly ‘feminine’ instincts, but she could not help feeling a certain fondness for the eccentric character before her. Despite their erratic nature, she thought they were still utterly charming. Viola ended up dozing off in the bedside armchair and soon dreamed of hands made of smoke and screaming constellations.

 

In the early hours of the morning, Viola was awoken by an almighty _crash_ from the other end of the house. Shocked, she realised that Bod’s bed was empty. She stumbled from the armchair in a haze of sleepy fog. She staggered down the corridor towards the kitchen. Choked sobs came from within. Bod was slumped on the floor against a cabinet and sounded like they were trying desperately to keep themself together. A smashed bottle lay next to them, a fractured reflection of sorrow. Their hands were covered in tiny cuts from the broken glass. They noticed that Viola stood cautiously in the doorway, “I-I’m sorry you're seeing me like this…” they stammered out. Bod acted like a child caught in the act.

 

Viola crouched down in front of them and decided to do something she would not normally do. She gave them a hug. “Want to talk about it?” she whispered into their hair. “Nightmares,” was the muttered reply.

“And I guess you thought drinking this would help?” she gestured to the the shattered laudanum bottle.

Bod nodded slowly.

“Do you normally drink an _entire bottle_?”

A silence. A nod. More cracks appeared in Bod’s confident facade and it crumbled completely. “I'm sorry for being such a hassle,” they muttered.

“Hey,” Viola cupped their tear-stained face, “This isn’t a hassle.”

“Really?”

“Really. Let's get you cleaned up, come on.”

“Okay…” Bod suddenly looked very small and very tired.

 

Viola helped them up onto wobbly feet and led them to the bathroom. She stayed with them whilst they scrubbed their hands with vigorous intent. They came to a stop and clutched the edge of the basin like it was the only tether to reality. Their knuckles became white with the effort. Viola fidgeted with her brass ring as she never really knew what to do in situations like these. It glinted in the dim light, the reflection caught Bod’s attention. “Oh, so _that’s_ the profession your parents disapprove of,” they said. Religion and the work of devils have never cooperated.*

“Well, what did you think it was?”

“I thought you may have been a, er, lady of the night.”

You could have heard a pin drop.

“I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.”

“Why not both?”

The cracks were fading. They raked their hands through their hair and took a deep breath, “Thank you, Viola. Friends are hard to come by down here.”

“Well,” she gave a half-smile, “We’re a team, remember?

“I guess we should go back to bed now.”

It was only when they reached the door to Bod’s room, did they ask, “Could you stay, just until I fall asleep?”

 

Viola did just that and it turned out to be the best sleep both of them had had for a while…

 

Bod, at the best of times, was not a morning person. This morning, however, was different. Maybe it was the coffee, maybe it was the double dose of F.F. Gebrandt's Tincture of Vigour they had stirred into it with a slender finger.

 

“Today, Viola,” they announced at breakfast, “We are taking a trip to Ladybones Road to deliver a book to Mr Pages.” They produced the slim volume they had stolen from the library with a flourish. It did not have a title.

Viola surveyed them from over the top of her mug of tea, “Are you quite sure you’re up to it?”

“Oh, _absolutely_!” They had a slightly deranged smile plastered across their face. It was going to be useless to try and stop them, Viola thought. “Fine then. Just don’t do anything rash, okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” Bod did a mock salute and winked as they went to get ready. Viola may have gone just a little pink when she realised that they were only wearing an oversized nightshirt.

 

She got dressed in a smart purple frock with a black lace trim. Her dark hair was styled into a bouncy, curled bob. A choker was the only other piece of jewellery she wore with her brass ring. Bod emerged quite a few minutes after her, wearing a white shirt with a red waistcoat that was intricately embroidered with tiny black flowers. It went rather well with their simple black trousers. Viola tried not to think about how their legs were completely bare just moments ago…

“Viola dear, my face is up here y’know,” Bod purred, then laughed at Viola’s mortified expression and said, “Oh, I’m just teasing! How do I look?”

“Very dashing,” said Viola as she made her way to the door and they shrugged on a long dark coat.

“Flatterer.”

Viola offered her arm to them, “Shall we?”

“How could I resist such a charming offer?”

 

The pair stepped over the threshold and into the murk of Watchmaker’s Hill and beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> footnotes:
> 
> * A brass ring symbolises the wearer's allegiance to Hell.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our two protagonists meet Mr Pages but are swiftly interrupted...

By now, the observant reader may have realised that Bod was not in the most reliable state of mind. Hence it should not be a surprise to find them staring down the fastest, and most peeved, horse in Watchmaker’s Hill with a distinct lack of survival instincts. Viola had valiantly tried to persuade them to go with the gentle pony and cart she had spotted earlier, but alas Bod’s will would not be bludgeoned into submission. Thankfully, she also had a stubborn streak that refused to bow down to a mere horse - no matter how it looked less horse-like the longer she considered it. She strode right up to the temperamental beast and stared it dead in the eyes.  The horse was not the least bit impressed. She rolled up her sleeves and turned to the trembling stagehand. “I’m going to need to borrow that riding crop.”

 

He handed it over without a word.

 

“You will behave -” she levelled it at the horse’s nose “- or _else_.”

 

The horse realised that it is never wise to argue with a lady brandishing a riding crop.

 

**~~~~~~~**

 

The ride was bumpy to say the least, Viola felt like her insides had been utterly pulverised but she refused to show it. She gave the horse a final glare before leaving it in the hands of the unfortunate stablehand. Bod seemed marginally less manic, but maybe that was due to the effort of not regurgitating their breakfast. Nevertheless, they bounded in front of Viola as she weaved her way down Ladybones Road - a tricky place to maneuver at the best of times. 

 

A melody wove its way from a young fiddle-player on the steps of a townhouse. He looked tired and drawn in, like a pair of moth eaten curtains, yet he soon perked up when he saw Bod and Viola approaching.  “Marco,” Bod called out, “how are you my dear fellow?”

“To be completely honest, I’m shattered. It’s been a tough few days,” he said.

Bod immediately squatted down to him, their face a picture of worry, “What happened? Who do I need to sort out?” 

“No-one! You don’t need to ‘sort out’ anyone… it’s my own fault really. Lost a bet, nothing much.”

“Was it those boys again?”

“... No.”

“Marco. You always tug your ear when you lie, and you’re doing it now.”

He relented, “They were ‘joking around’ with me because of my, erm, heritage.” He gestured to his sepia skin, amber eyes and the small horns poking up from his dark ginger curls, “And it’s so hard to get a job, either I’m too human or not enough.”

“I understand completely what you’re going through,” Viola said, “I had to put up with so much when I first joined the Brass Embassy, everyone assumed I was some sort of sultry vixen for hire - and that’s not really my area at all. So I proved them wrong. I showed everyone who ever doubted me that I was more than capable, and that’s what you need to do.”

“And you are  _ always _ welcome to work with me should you ever want to,” added Bod.

Marco boggled. “Really?”

“Of course, I-“ The rest was smothered as Marco flung his arms around them and clung on like an eager little barnacle. After a few minutes Viola cleared her throat and said, “I’m sorry to interrupt but we have somewhere to be.” This would have sounded stern but she was trying not to laugh. So Bod detached themself from Marco, ruffled his hair and muttered something about seeing him soon. As they were walking away, Viola could not help but smirk as Bod tried to regain a sense of professionalism again. “I’m starting to think you’re not as heartless as people say you are,” she said.

“You can’t go around saying that! I have a reputation to uphold.” 

“For what?”

“Being an absolute  _ scoundrel _ , darling.” They shot her such a look that any weaker-willed person would have fallen away into a swoon.

 

There was a polite but decidedly pointed cough behind them, Bod turned around to face its source: a butler whose face bore a strong resemblance to a walnut. “Mr Pages sent me,” he announced, and he beckoned the two of them to follow. He led them through the backstreets, a truly tortuous route designed to baffle and confuse. Bod just found it irritating when they re-emerged back onto the main street not far from where they started, and glared at him. A devil tipped his hat to Viola when she passed, his ring glinting in the lamplight. The butler, taking his time, walked up to the narrow door of a narrow house opposite the Brass Embassy.

 

“Pages will see you now,” he announced. 

And he opened the door.  

 

**~~~~~~~**

 

Viola had met devils, assassins (her colleagues, I should say); an overall unholy assortment of distasteful characters during her career. She paused, uncertain at the foot of the stairs as Bod breezed ahead of her, confidence oozing from every pore. The anxiety was soon buried down with the fear and everything else. She breathed again and steeled herself. Viola was expecting many things when she entered the office of Mr Pages, but she was most certainly not expecting what was to come.

 

The office looked like any other office; it had shelves stuffed with ageing tomes, pens and inks, a couple of chairs opposite a solid mahogany desk. The man sitting at it looked like any other office clerk. His oiled jet black hair contrasted with the pallor of his face, which very nearly matched the hue of his shirt. The only unusual aspect of him was his eyes - they had no pupils and were a haunting shade of purple. Viola sat down in the chair offered to her as Bod made the necessary introductions. She felt reality shift and the man before her became a hunched figure in an ancient robe the colour of parchment. Its leathery wings stretched across the room, unknown languages whispered secrets from them. A blink later and she saw him as he was before, but with the addition of half-moon spectacles. “Apologies for that,” he said, “Sometimes I forget what an adverse effect my eyes can have on people.”

“It’s fine, you’re not the strangest thing since I’ve been working with this one-” She glared at Bod next to her. “-In fact, you seem surprisingly normal.”

“Thank you, I pride myself in being the most approachable of my colleagues.” 

“Ah, so that’s why you’re speaking normally for once,” said Bod.

He arched an eyebrow. “And on that note, to business. Do you have what I asked for?”

“Indeed I do.” They produced the thin grey book from their breast pocket with a flourish. “Irons will be most relieved to see this again,” said Pages, scanning its contents. “Did you look through it?”

“No, of course not.” They found their nails incredibly fascinating.

“You know what they say,” he said, “Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Ah, but I’m not dead yet!”

“It was a close call, though,” mentioned Viola, “We ran into a spider council amongst other things - by the way, how did you kill that?”

“With this!” Bod produced a pen from their pocket, “It has enough poison in it to kill a tiger and it creates the most exquisite calligraphy too.”

“Does the name Ink sound familiar?” She gave a brief description of its appearance to Pages. 

“Just give me a moment, I’ll see.” He closed his eyes as reams of text appeared and streamed across his skin (far more ordered than the chaos of Ink’s unintelligible whorls). They became faster and soon Pages began to look pained. The writing faded away along with the whispers, but were replaced with a frown. “Hmm… I can’t find anything that fits. That means either I’m getting out of touch, or Ink is older than the written word.”

 

They say silence is golden, but this was leaden. Bod wandered over to the window deep in thought. Movement outside caught their eye.

 

Black smoke poured out of the Brass Embassy.

And the screams quickly followed suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Terribly sorry for the delay, you can blame school and pesky writers' block.]]


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which business goes on as usual...

“And  _ that _ would be our cue to exit,” said Bod, turning to Pages. 

“Before you go, I believe you left something with me last time. Ah, here it is” He rifled through a selection of his many, many drawers and produced a small glass vial. It was filled with what seemed to be prisoners’ honey, its deep amber colour reminded Viola of burning embers. Not deadly, but caution was certainly advised. “This is a pet project of mine,” said Bod, pocketing it. They explained that it was an experiment to investigate the properties of red prisoners’ honey. Viola thought it was best not to question it, another scream from outside reminded her that time was of the essence. 

 

Bod, before anyone could react, made a swift departure stage left. In this case, stage left was in fact the window. At this point, nobody was surprised - Pages simply raised an eyebrow, and Viola muttered a quick apology and followed suit. She shimmied down the drainpipe, landed on a pile of crates, and stumbled after her counterpart of questionable sanity. They only stopped steaming ahead when she grabbed their shoulder. “What are you doing? We don’t know what we’re up against - not even Pages knows!”

“Well, Pages lied.”

“And how do you know that?”

“It takes one to know one,” said Bod as they tugged Viola along. 

“Interesting… so I presume we’re now heading towards the Brass Embassy to do something incredibly reckless.”

“Precisely.”

 

The police had cordoned off the the entrance as they, along with assorted devils, tried to get the situation under control. Bod breezed past them, waved a bit of paper (which she was sure was blank), and towed Viola into the chaos.

 

**~~~~~~~**

 

It was mayhem, not the tightly controlled kind that the devils were used to causing, with all their bureaucratic shenanigans. This was something that had sat and festered in the depths of a lunatic. There were no longer any traces of humanity left in the snarling face that used to be Edward’s. No traces of blonde in his slate hair. No quips, no sarcasm, no villainesque monologues. Just rage. Rage that unfurled coils of indecipherable text into barbed wires and whips and swarms of screaming letters. Rage that had fermented for centuries too long. 

 

Viola found it hard to make out anything in the haze of smoke apart from the columns either side of grand entrance hall and the equally grand reception desk at the far end of it. She briefly glimpsed shadowy figures flitting to and fro - presumably her colleagues readying themselves for another attack. Our two heroes stood in the front entrance, light and smoke danced around them giving them halos. They dashed forward and skulked behind the desk, hidden from the dust and the blood and the carnage. Unfortunately, they were not hidden from the corpse of the poor receptionist. Without a word, Bod started rifling through their pockets. They frowned until they found what they were looking for: a simple black pen - a poisoned pen. “Viola,” they whispered, “I have a plan. I need you to - ”   
There was the pounding of feet followed by a scream off to the left, but their frantic rambling continued throughout the ensuing ruckus.   
“ - there should be enough poison in here to at least knock him out,” they finished.    
“You don’t sound completely sure of that.”

“I’m not, but it’s the only option we have.”

“Are you insane? You can’t just - ” Bod pressed a finger to her lips.   
“ _ We _ can,” they said, their voice low and dangerous, “Have faith in yourself.” They withdrew the finger.   
“Fine.” She reached for her revolvers on impulse.   
“Guns are probably not the best option, otherwise he would be dead by now. You could use those.” They gestured to the two swords in the display case nearby. She nodded, her expression caught halfway between a grin and a grimace. She inched over to the display case and felt Bod’s eyes on her all the while. “Oh, and one more thing,” they said, “Make an entrance.” They winked and crept into the smoke…      
  
And so Viola did just that: vaulted over the top of the desk, a sword in each hand, a fire in her eyes and a snarl on her lips. She landed legs akimbo amidst the wreckage. 

 

Everyone stopped mid-fray with expressions varying from mild amusement to abject horror. She was almost certain that one of the more … devils swooned upon her arrival. Ink ceased flaying the nearest person and jerked around so fast it was a miracle he did not get whiplash.    
He lunged forward, snarling. He pinned Viola to the desk, she kicked him in the shin and slithered out of his grip. One of her swords clattered across the marble tiles. She stood up and Ink batted the other one away. It arced through the air and landed behind one of the pillars. She balled a fist and swung. There, that was much more her style. It land with a crunch, right on the nose. Ink reeled back in surprise, he had dark circles under his eyes. Clearly this rampage of his had drained him.    
  


Viola found her moment, seized it and barrelled forwards. Ink met her head on, buzzing with rage and something else. They fought like street rats, full of nails and knees and teeth. No room for chivalry or finesse.    
  
She feinted left and drove an elbow into his ribs. He stumbled back, winded. He returned with a quick kick to her hips, followed by a punch aimed at her jaw. She tasted blood and stomped on his unguarded foot. Her heel went through to the floor.    
  


Somewhere, somehow, Bod materialised from out of the smoke. And, for the first time since Viola had met them, they looked  _ dangerous _ . Their hair stuck up at odd angles, their face smudged with grime, and a mouth that was showing too many teeth to be considered a smile.   
  


Ink lurched towards them and tore himself free, his foot now a mangled, bloody mess. He turned his face to them. A growl twisted out of his throat. “You!” he spat, and started to stride over to them, seething all the while. “I thought I’d left you for dead.”   
“I am a remarkably tricky person to kill. Would you like another chance?”   
“Are you patronising me?”    
“I’ll stay still this time, promise.”

 

That was a lie. The minute Ink made his move, Bod darted out of reach and tossed something small and sharp towards Viola. It spiralled end over end, and in that collection of heartbeats, she saw her fate entwine inextricably with Bod’s. In that moment, the universe cried out: _ this was meant to be _ . 

 

The pen slipped into her hand. She jabbed it into his neck. He convulsed once, and went limp. Viola let him fall to the floor and wiped the blood from her mouth with bruised knuckles.


End file.
